


Bitter, like the Taste of Copper in your Mouth

by Neden



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Carl's age is probably problematic, Dark, Darkfic, Emotional Hurt, M/M, Zombies, mentioning of sex, no graphic depictions of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 23:32:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13692150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neden/pseuds/Neden
Summary: Negan was used to get what he wanted. He had his men, he had his wives, he had all a man like him in a world like that could wish for. That's what he believed - until he met Carl.





	Bitter, like the Taste of Copper in your Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea while I was feeling very bad about many things. Will I ever be able to connect to the people that I love? I feel like there is this giant distance that separates me, and it drives me crazy. Like I'm never really part of anything. 
> 
> Well, who was to say I had to suffer alone?
> 
> Maybe one day I'll write a cheerful follow-up for this. Until then, enjoy. I... guess.

When Negan had first established his little club of wives it had entertained him to no end. Finally he got all the sex that he deserved, and no one to stop him from getting what he wanted. He had definitely considered it to be a fair trade-off. In a world like this, not having to defend yourself was a luxury only very few could get a taste of, so he did not see why it should be a problem. Sex was the most natural thing in the book, and he considered himself to be a very capable lover.

That was, until he had lain eyes on that kid for the first time. Actually, with all that pretty hair floating around he had been sure it was a daughter Rick had dared to drag onto the battle field that was the open world, but he had not minded either way. Negan liked to see pretty things suffer, but when he saw the coldness in Carl's eye while his father struggled to cut off his arm, he had known that he had found something way more precious. Someone that actually got how this whole bloody new world worked. Eat or be eaten (although in the case of his wives it had been both). He had known that he wanted this kid on his team. And when he finally brought him home, it was teaching him so much more about what he had gotten himself into. 

He should have never brought the kid to this place. Looking back now, Negan knew that this was his one fatal mistake that would do him in. How had his fucker of a father put it? Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But someday. What a stupid idiot. 

It appeared that Carl had some very serious homicidal tendencies. What a lovely coincidence. Now that was something he had not expected him to bring along as a gift, but Negan felt very blessed with this revelation, thank-you-very-much. He was not sure though if Carl had no emotions, or if he was the best damn fucker to hide them from all those greedy eyes around him that tried to strip his soul naked. When Negan brought him along to some meetings with his inner circle, the kid tagged along like a well-trained dog, half-bored and half-paying attention to whatever was being said. In the beginning Negan had been sure that the little shit did not take any of this training serious, and he was expecting his ungratefulness to come directly from his father. But when he started to ask him about it afterwards, Carl surprised him with some very accurate descriptions about his men's behaviours and intentions. Turned out, the kid had not only been paying attention to what was being said, but also to who said it and why. And whatever the reason was, Negan slowly realized that Carl was loyal towards him. Not to his men – this also became clear when he reported to him some stuff that made Lucille have a rather lavish feast in the evening. Just to him. Maybe he knew that one slip-off would cause his lovely, home-is-where-the-heart-is family real problems. Maybe though he was actually starting to enjoy this, and Negan had unknowingly given him the freedom to explore his own needs and talents. 

Looking back at his own life, he had never been really attracted to anyone. Negan liked sex, but he did not need to know the person under him to enjoy it. Hell, he did not even have to have a face that he could look upon. Sex was something he enjoyed because it made him enjoy himself even more than usual. Whenever he had felt attraction, it had always been spontaneous and not because of the persons themselves, but rather because his buddy down there had some real needs that craved attention. And who was he to deny him that? He had certainly never intended to end up with a kid in his bed. He did not mind doing what needed to be done, no matter the age, and if a kid gave him hell he would have Lucille or his men deal with it accordingly. Still, if he had something that resembled principles, it definitely evolved young people. 

A dark memory of some big hand hitting a kid in the past. He would not look upon it. It would always escape his grip, anyway. Like a fish slipping through his hands, falling back down into the black endlessness underneath him. It only rippled the surface. Then it was gone.

The way Carl looked in the meetings, eyes dark, lips softly parted, taking everything in but still giving off this vibe of complete disinterest. One of these times, Negan found himself guilty of drifting slowly off and losing focus of the conversation. Simon had realised it, but he had politely taken care of the matter when Negan understood that an answer expected to be given. Then Carl had glanced at him sideways, a little confused. 

Negan had tried to practise some stress-relief over the loss of his self-control with his wives that night, but it had not worked. It was the last time he tried anything with these women. There just was no use for that any more.

 

A few nights later someone was suicidal enough to enter his bedroom. The lights were out, but Negan was a light sleeper and immediately reached for the gun next to him. Before he could do anything, the calm, bored voice of Carl filled the silence.

“It's me.”

“Shit kid, are you bat-shit crazy? You wanna die so bad?”

He was pissed, but turned on a light anyway to look upon the intruder. Carl just stood by the door frame, the door closed behind him. The expression on his face was unreadable.

“If this is gonna be an assassination, you're really doin' the worst job in history, and trust me, I've read some fucked up books.”

Nothing happened. This was unusual, even for someone like Carl. 

“Okay, you might wanna tell me what's goin' on NOW, or I'll get really angry.”

Then Carl walked over to the bed, making Negan lift up his gun – until Carl started to pull of his shirt. Displacing perfectly smooth skin underneath.

“Put that thing down. You won't need it. I've seen the way you look at me. I'm not a virgin any more, y'know.”

Negan's throat became dry and for once, he was lost for words. That made the kid chuckle with satisfaction while he climbed on top of him. It was the first night like that, and it ended as would all the other ones that would follow: with Carl leaving silently, and playing pretend the next day that nothing unusual had occurred. He was a damn good actor, that kid was.

 

Negan pondered about the reasons for this. Maybe the kid was really fucked up. Who would blame him for that? Growing up in a world of carnage, killing your own mum, having a crazy dad like he did. That had to show somehow, in one way or the other. You could not wade through the bloody seas of hell and expect to come out untainted on the other side. 

Well, maybe that was true for him as well. He had never felt affection towards anyone, but he knew that he was really fond of the kid. In so many different, difficult layers, all intertwined and inseparable from each other. The way his fingers knew exactly how to pull the trigger. The way he observed and analysed and understood. Negan loved words, but with Carl no words were needed. He was even quicker to learn and understand than Simon was, and that guy definitely was worth quite a lot of trouble. 

After their first night nothing happened for a while. So long that it had Negan even question his own sanity, if he had anything left that deserved that label anyway, and several times he had tried to approach Carl about it, the kid escaped him like water. It was frustrating. He was frustrated. Only when it started to show and he got more irritable than usual did Carl pay him another moonlit visit. This time it was more furious, more reckless. He was a drowning man, and there was only one thing he could hold on to. Somebody must have heard it, noticed something. If so, everyone knew exactly what was good for them, and Negan never found so much as a problematic glance at him. He had the best men, after all. 

The time went by. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months. Even though Carl was allowed at one point to occasionally go home or see his folks, he would always quickly return. He had earned Negan's trust, and maybe something more. Something Negan would not admit to anyone, not even to himself. Still it was there. Something he did not have a name for, a feeling that was constantly gnawing at his bones and making his stomach turn. It would only be soothed if he could get a hold of Carl, desperately devouring him, but as soon as he was left alone it would be back to replace the emptiness. 

 

Then there was this one afternoon that would give him nightmares for years to come. Some of his men and Carl had been out, doing some necessary errants. They needed some replacement parts for one machine or the other. Rather dull stuff. Problem was, only half of them returned, and Carl was not among them. Apparently the car broke down half-way out, and at a rather unlucky spot brimming with walkers. The good news was that they could not be sure if Carl – or some of the others – were in fact dead. The bed news was that this was true for the alive-part as well. If Negan had ever felt anything that came close to resemble fear, it was what went through his head when he heard about it.

He told himself that Carl was strategically important. He had taught the kid everything he needed, and he was quite adept. There was no replacement. Also, they still needed the parts that were probably out there somewhere, for which he lost a couple of his men. He thought about forming a search troop, which would have been rather unusual to begin with, but Negan realised that this was something he could not trust his men with. They had fucked up once, after all. Without an explanation he went out himself, with the sun slowly setting behind the tall sea of trees around him. The shadows grew longer by the minute. He knew how to follow tracks, but as farther as he got away from the broken car, the harder it got to find anything in the twilight that surrounded him. 

By the time he was beginning to feel frantic, he came upon some bodies of walkers that littered the ground. Whatever happened here had certainly not been pleasant for them. They were smashed to pieces, ripped apart, tangled together in ways that would have most definitely deadly for any living person. Negan eyed the scene, and when he looked up he saw Carl. Leaning against a huge boulder, the kid was covered in blood and gore, panting and only standing on one leg. He held a bag in his hand, clung to it like it was a plushie.

“Ran out of bullets. Think I twisted my ankle. Got the parts, anyway.”

With this, he lifted the bag. Without thinking much Negan walked over to him, turning Carl's chin up to have a closer look at him.

“Are you okay? Have you been bitten?”

He did not wait for an answer but started to lift Carl's shirt, ignoring the pieces of dried blood and old skin he got on his fingers. 

“I'm fine, old man. Just take me home.”

Negan did not bother to ask how in the world he had taken on all these things alone and without a gun. He lifted Carl up and carried him through to woods to his car, taking out some unwanted walkers on the way there. 

“Why are you here anyway? Don't tell me you came just for me.”

His voice sounded almost repulsed. It gave Negan the chills, and it also helped bringing him back to reality. Yes, what in the world had he been thinking? What had gotten into him?

“Wanted to see why my men fucked up so badly. They had one job, after all. Good thing I can at least rely on you, huh?”

He helped Carl get into the passenger seat and then walked over to get behind the steering wheel. He could not shake off the image of Carl in his mind, taking on a bunch of walkers, looking like a deer with his long limbs, brown eyes, soft hair. A forest deity. He wanted to drag him into bed, right now, strip all of that unholy holiness away from him until there was nothing between them any longer. Until all he could feel was the rawest part of Carl.

Really. What was he thinking?

“I see. Sorry 'bout that. The fuck up, I mean.”

Carl turned his head to stare out into the falling night. Wherever he was right now, he was as far away from Negan as he could be. He realised that now. It was the worst, but at least he got the kid back home.

When they came back, Negan took the bag away from Carl and ordered him to be taken to his doctor. He insisted on a good check-up. Simon came to take care of it, and even though he did not say anything, he looked at Negan and his eyes said everything. As if he was, for the first time, seeing Negan as the madman he had become. 

 

After this, Negan had a hard time not being around Carl. What had started innocently enough (a lie already, nothing about this had ever been innocent) was getting out of hand. He wanted the kid on a whole other level than he had ever wanted anything or anyone before. It was hard to sleep. It was hard to stay awake. Carl was close to him, and yet so unreachable. If Negan had ever prayed for anything, it was staring at Carl and knowing that he was really, really looking back. With the same intensiveness, the same wanting. 

More often than not, our prayers do not get fulfilled. Longing is like a noose, woven out of all of our nightmares, slowly choking us. You can sit next to a person, feel their breath on your skin, their warmth against your body, see every tiny movement – and you could not be further away from them. And there was no greater despair than knowing what you wanted and not being able to get it.  
Negan had never had felt left out. He was used to being the centre of the universe, the centre of attention. It was his style of command, his aura which he had polished over oh so many years. As soon as he laid eyes on Carl though, his vision did a funny thing. It was as if the kid was not really there. Not really tangible. It was almost making him laugh, in a very twisted way. Even though Carl was years behind him, Negan found that he felt as if he was in fact always chasing after him; almost reaching his back, but never quite making it. It was exhausting. He had never been one for enduring. 

 

Another moonlit night. Another desperate encounter, one that made him crave for more.

“Kid, won't you... stay for a change?”

Carl stopped dead in his tracks, having pulled up his skinny jeans half way. The look he gave Negan could have cut ice in thin slices.

“Oh, please. You know that's not gonna happen, right?”

Negan learned that night that there were two kinds of things that could make your mouth dry. The first time Carl had cause that was pure disbelief, pure arousal. It was laced with a hint of fulfilling flavours, pleasant and promising. This time it was pure pain. Bitter, like the taste of copper in your mouth. Like blood.

Carl continued with his jeans and pulled over his shirt. His hair got tangled in the collar, and he carefully freed it with one fluid motion. Then he walked over to the door, stopping there once more, turning his head.

“I've told you, didn't I? I know the way you look at me. You might think you can have it all, Negan. Hell, maybe that's even true.”

He chuckled darkly.

“But I'll tell you what: you can never have me.”

Rick had really both been right and wrong in his prediction. Not today. Not tomorrow. But someday his son would kill him.

**Author's Note:**

> Every kind of comment is appreciated, whether it be a scientific paper or one word/gif. I'd love to receive feedback that helps me improve my writing, but I do appreciate every kind of feedback! If English is not your mother tongue, don't worry.


End file.
